Communication
by Pensez-a-Erik
Summary: (Sequel to Christine's Apartment) Christine is the most wonderful woman Erik has ever known. He's eager to do well by her... though sometimes his attempts blow up in his face.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sequel to Christine's Apartment! You should be fine if you haven't read that beforehand, but it provides some background context that may be helpful.**

 **I meant to get this out by Halloween, but life happened, anddd here we are.**

 **XXxxXX**

Christine's hand was wrapped tightly around his arm. Painfully, almost, but he did not mind. If he tried hard enough, he could almost feel her warmth through their layers of coats, the way she was pressed against his side.

Erik thought his mind very wicked sometimes. He felt a flash of guilt every time Christine and her delicious softness entered his mind.

And with the way she was clinging to him, it entered often.

"Erik!" she squeaked, jerking him from his dark pit of a conscience. "Of all places, why did you choose a _haunted house?_ "

"I thought you would enjoy it," he replied, his brow furrowing beneath his mask. "You said you worked at a haunted house in the past."

"That one was a _kid-friendly_ haunted house," her hand tightened on his arm. "This is different."

He apologized earnestly, now his guilt being directed at another subject. "Do you want to go? I-I can drive you home"

Christine paused, staring up at the dark building before them.

"No, I don't want to go. But I'm going to scream a lot!" she warned teasingly. He felt a little less bad.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," he waved the two tickets in his free hand.

XXxxXX

When Erik had heard the town's local theater was hosting a 'Fright Night," he had immediately rushed to get tickets. It had seemed like the perfect idea for a third date with Christine. That is- if she accepted.

After rehearsal, when she'd been packing up to leave, he'd stopped her with a hand.

"Christine?"

She'd looked up at him curiously. "Yeah?"

"I, uh, bought these tickets… and I was wondering if you'd- go with me on Saturday?"

He felt dreadfully nervous. Their past two dates had been initiated by _her,_ he was horribly inexperienced with the ways of dating.

His question had come out in bits and pieces, and he'd even neglected to mention _what_ they were even going to. Yet for some inexplicable reason- bless her heart- she accepted.

"I'd love to!" Her face had broken out into a wide grin.

Anxious still, but now with a tinge of excitement, he told her where to meet. That had been two days ago.

Now they stood together, her clinging to his arm, and they entered the theater.

XXxxXX

Erik realized one thing fairly quickly as they made their way through the haunted house. Christine hadn't been kidding when she said she screamed.

His right ear was currently ringing, and he was relatively sure she had begun to cut off blood flow in his arm. Her grip had not relaxed at all.

At one section a rather convincing zombie leaped out at them, causing Christine to shriek and jerk away so hard he was nearly pulled with.

As she recovered, he gently pulled her in for a hug.

"My dear," he sighed, an endearment that he knew always caught her attention. "Are you sure you wish to continue? We do not have to if you do not want it."

Christine had not moved from his embrace. He could feel her breath on his neck as she buried her face in his coat.

"No," her voice was muffled. "I want to keep going- I do."

He pursed his lips but did not argue further. Gently, he extracted her from his arms and led her by the hand down a dark corridor.

It _was_ a well-done setup, he admitted to himself. His keen night sight ruined the effect a little bit, but he still couldn't help but admire the decorations. The smoke machines and cobwebs were a nice touch, though he could do without the strobe lights. They gave him a headache.

He was shaken from his thoughts as Christine jumped, a hand had reached to her through the wall. She broke into a run, pulling him farther down the hallway. They turned a corner, going into a small room lightly dimly with a yellow light.

Erik immediately spotted the 'corpse' that lay on the floor, a pool of fake blood around him. Christine gasped.

"It's okay," he comforted, "It's just fake, not real. There's nothing really to be scared of."

In fact, _he_ was probably the scariest thing in the entire haunted house.

Christine's face was still pale as she stared at the man on the floor.

"Are you sure?" she whispered, inching him away from the spot. "It looks… _really_ realistic."

"The blood is just a mixture of food coloring and corn syrup. It can't harm you."

Of course, the 'corpse' chose that moment to reanimate, jerking up to half-stumble half-run towards them. Christine screamed even louder than before (if that was possible) and raced from the room.

"Christine!" he cried out. A distant part of his mind remembered the man chasing him, but he could hardly care as he pursued his date.

 _Damnit, where'd she gone?_

The door closed behind him as he left the room behind. Now Erik stood in the middle of _another_ dark hallway, his eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of familiar life.

The white noise machine running in the background had begun to give him a pounding headache. This entire date was a _disaster-_ what had he been thinking to take Christine to a haunted house? Now she was lost somewhere in this wretched building and he had a migraine.

He pinched the bridge of the mask's nose- as if that would help him any.

Eventually, after turning a few corners, he spotted her. She was leaning against a wall, hands pressed over her eyes. Erik walked forward, sighing with relief. He had been half-worried she had left the theater altogether.

He reached out to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. It was a light touch, and he opened his mouth to speak-

Christine, too caught up in her panic to recognize him, yelped and jerked away, elbowing him in the face in the process. She tumbled back, falling on her behind.

Erik felt the cold air meet his face as her arm knocked away his mask. The plaster skidded onto the floor, unharmed, a few feet away.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, time freezing as his eyes centered on _her_. She still sat on the floor, staring up at him with a pale expression on her face. Her mouth was wide in an O shape.

Erik found it rather difficult to breathe. His chest was tight, seizing up, and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.

This was it. After this, Christine would leave, and find some excuse to discontinue their lessons. He'd never see her again. Those four kisses they'd shared would be nothing more than a distant memory.

A small sound escaped Christine. A sob, perhaps? A scream? She hadn't moved on the floor, her hands were still planted on the ground behind her. She was going through shock, he distantly realized.

His own mind was too scrambled to process anything else. All Erik knew was that he had to retrieve his mask and leave _now._

His hand reached up to cover his gaping hole of a nose, turning away to grab his mask and put it on tightly. For a moment he stood there, still leaning over her, his breath rushed.

Then she began to cry. Soft little cries, and the tears he saw running down her face seared through his heart.

 _Monster._ He was a monster. An ugly one who had never deserved her in the first place.

"Come," he rasped, his voice trembling, but did not offer a hand. He did not want to see the look of revulsion in her eyes as she pulled away. "I shall show you the exit."

Still, she did not reply; and when he led her to her car, the only sounds were her quiet sobs.

Erik turned away.

XXxxXX

 _Erik, if you don't call me back one of these days, I'm going to assume you dead, break into your house and steal all your shit._ Reply, _goddammit!_

There was a slight buzz as the Daroga's message ended. Erik lay on the floor, phone in hand, watching the screen of his device. He scrolled down farther on his missed-calls list, most of which were from the meddlesome Iranian.

A few, he realized to his surprise, were from Christine. He deleted those as soon as he saw them.

Erik didn't want to listen to her break-up calls. Reasons as to why she should never lay eyes on his hideous face again.

Not that he blamed her- Erik completely understood. He'd leap at the chance to break up with his own face if possible. Kudos to her for taking the opening as soon as she saw it.

The screen buzzed again, lighting up. And then his phone was vibrating; she was calling him. Inwardly, he congratulated her for her efforts. Most girls (or at least, what movies and books suggested) would simply 'ghost' him without a second thought. 'Ghost' him. What an awfully ironic term. He wished she would ghost her, simply to rid him of the constant reminds that she was gone.

Or he wished it could be vice-versa. Erik wished _he_ could turn into a ghost. And soar into the sun, never to bother his beloved Christine ever again.

The buzzing ended, and her voice began to fill the room.

He had only given her his phone number months ago, in case she needed to keep in touch with him outside of lessons. Clearly, that had been a mistake. Wouldn't an email have been just as sufficient? At least with an email, he wouldn't be forced to automatically delete her voicemail as soon as it began.

 _Erik, it's me, Christine, and-_ a soft press of his thumb and her lovely voice was shut off.

The phone made a delightful beep when he sent the recording into the void, as well. Yet he only felt even more hollow inside.

Feeling another meddlesome headache begin to spring upon him, he pressed his hand to his ugly, unmasked mug.

An entire week had flown by since the disastrous date, and he realized with a heavy heart that they had a rehearsal scheduled the next day.

What was he supposed to do? Show up to an empty room, waiting for her to never show up?

 _Or,_ what if she showed up simply to leave him in person? That suggestion left his stomach reeling, and his headache returning at full force. It felt as if a bus had run over his head.

A drink. That's what he needed. A drink. Tossing his phone across the room, Erik stumbled to his feet and shuffled over to the unusually-messy kitchen. Typically he took great pride in maintaining his house pristine and worthy of the front cover of Better Homes and Gardens, but lately, he could not muster the energy.

Fishing a cup out of the sink, he quickly rinsed it out to see what strong alcohols were located in his fridge. He needed something strong to drink.

XXxxXX

Four hours later found him lying on the linoleum floor, a bottle of half-scotch in one hand. He stared up at the ceiling. Why was it spinning? The small chandelier above his head appeared to circle over and over and over. He was nauseous again. Dreadfully so.

Three quick knocks at the door felt like a battering ram against his ears. Groaning, he rolled on his side. The bottle slipped from his hand, spilling on the floor and most likely onto his clothes. Not that it would bother him- the pair of sweatpants and old black hoodie was disposable enough.

There were more knocks, and Nadir's voice echoed from outside.

"Erik! Let me in," he said.

Erik cast the most venomous glare his intoxicated self could manage. He did not even attempt to stand.

Maybe if he pretended to be dead, the antagonizing man would give up and leave.

The doorknob rattled.

" _Erik!_ I'm going to break down your door."

Erik glanced over to his other side. His mask sat, on the floor, a good few feet away.

 _Go away,_ he willed.

A click sounded from the front room, and Erik knew Nadir had fished out his extra key. There was the sound of footsteps on wood flooring, and a low swear as Erik was spotted.

"What the fuck happened?" The Iranian's eyes were wide open, taking in the spilled scotch to his unmasked face. "What the hell drove you to _vanish_ for over a week? You worried me, you stupid man."

Erik scowled at him. "It's none of your business," he drawled. "I d-didn't _ask_ for you to break into m-my apartment. You're not my fucking _mom._ "

"Praise Allah," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come on, let's get you up and cleaned off. Then maybe you can explain why you're lying in a puddle of liquor, drunk out of your mind."

Reaching down, Nadir pulled Erik up with a hand. The latter of which fell against him as he struggled for balance.

"It's c-complicated," he growled. Hobbling like an old man to his bedroom, he distantly felt a wave of embarrassment over being seen in such an awful state.

"Oh, I bet," Nadir exhaled.

An hour later Erik was more presentable, slouched down on the couch as he was. He rubbed his now-masked face.

"It's- Christine," he muttered through his hands. "I… she…"

Unable to continue, he pressed his palms into his eyes. There was a painful tightness in his throat that he fought to overcome. He wouldn't cry! Not in front of the Daroga, at least. Maybe later, after the endlessly annoying man left.

Across from him, Nadir's face fell into a deep frown. "I had a sneaking suspicion this had something to do with her."

"Oh, Daroga, she saw my _face._ "

"I- ah," he replied meekly, leaning back. "I take it that things did not go well?"

"She was in shock, she couldn't move," his voice was muffled. He inhaled shakily. "I made her cry."

"I'm so sorry."

There was another buzzing from across the room. Erik looked up from between his fingers, shaking his head.

"That's probably her."

Nadir had turned at the sound, peering over the back of the armchair. "Probably her?" he echoed. "What does that mean?"

"Christine's been calling and texting me every day since that night. And she won't _stop._ " he huffed. "I miss her to death, but Gods, I wish she'd just silently leave like everyone else."

The phone was still buzzing.

"Erik," Nadir began, "I really think you should listen to what she has to say."

"Not in a million years, Daroga. I've been deleting all her voicemails and texts as soon as they arrive."

The Iranian's lips were pursed. "I know you, Erik, and I think you're most likely misinterpreting this entire thing-"

"God _dammit,_ Nadir!" Erik jerked to his feet, still swaying slightly. "I _don't want to hear it._ I know what I'm doing and I know what she's doing."

The phone stopped buzzing. There was no voicemail.

"I think you've overstayed your welcome," the masked man hissed.

Nadir's face hardened, and for a few tense moments, both men stood staring at one another.

"Fine," he replied. "I'll go." He stood up, straightening his suit, and walked past Erik to open the door.

Before leaving, he turned to look at him. "All I want is for things to go well for you, Erik."

The door closed with a quiet click.

Erik sank down on the couch once more, craning his head back to stare at the ceiling. He tore off his mask to toss it in the vague direction of his phone.

Clenching his eyes shut, he willed the tears to come. _Now_ , now that it was over. But nothing happened.

XXxxXX

Christine sat on her bed, letting the phone slip out of her hands. His number still lay on the screen, taunting her.

For the past seven- no- _eight_ days now she'd been texting and calling him in the hopes he'd pick up.

Yet all her attempts to reach him ended fruitlessly; including her present one. Disheartened, she collapsed against the bed.

In all honesty… she was worried about him. They definitely hadn't embarked from the theater that night in good spirits. He had looked awful as he ushered her to her car.

 _As did you,_ her mind bit back. Christine sucked in a breath.

She couldn't rid herself of the hurt and betrayed look in his eyes as he reeled back. Or how his hand lifted up to cover the hole where his nose had been as soon as she gasped.

"This is it," she muttered against the quiet room. "He doesn't want to see you again. Not after you acted l-like _that._ "

She had replayed that last scene over and over in her head. She had been terrified, spooked by that man in the room, and everything was in a haze. In some far away part of her conscience, she knew she'd left Erik behind, yet his sudden appearance had startled her beyond recognition.

She felt dreadfully guilty over accidentally hitting him. And knocking his mask askew!

It had been the first time she'd ever seen his true face, and while, yes, it _had_ been terrible… it was still Erik.

And she still missed him.

Her phone began to ring, and she sat up, hope blossoming in her chest. Her hands fumbled with the phone as she stared at the caller ID.

Her disappointment was crushing. She held the phone up to her ear.

"Hey, Meg."

" _Hey!"_ The sound of her friend on the other end was sympathetic. " _So… did you get ahold of him yet?"_

"No." she swallowed.

" _You've heard nothing from him?"_

"Yeah."

" _Well… you don't know where this guy lives, right?"_

"Right," she affirmed, "And even if I _did,_ it's not like I'd just show up… I don't think he wants to see me anymore. All I want to do is talk to him. At least one last time." Even if he was done with her.

" _What's your plan after this?" Meg asked. "You can't just keep calling him forever, Chris. At some point, you're just gonna have to give up and go on."_

"I know, I know." Her window was slightly open, casting a small, yet chilly draft into the room. Christine shivered. "We have a rehearsal scheduled tomorrow. Erik never misses our practices, I know he'll be there. After that, I'll cut myself clean, okay?"

Her stomach was twisted in knots.

" _Alright, I-"_ a loud crash echoed from Meg's side of the phone. " _Crap! Sorry, Christine, I gotta go, Max just knocked over a vase. Talk to you later, bye!"_

Christine gave a small amused smile as she hung up, knowing the antics of Meg's cat, but the call hadn't relieved her anxiety any. In fact, she felt even _more_ nervous than before.

Standing up and hopping off her bed, she knew she couldn't waste the rest of the day away hoping he'd reply. Fresh air. She needed fresh air.

Slipping on a jacket, she only paused to send him one last quick text. _Please reply,_ it said. There was no response.

XXxxXX

 **To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Just a warning, I haven't edited this whatsoever. I just wrote 90% of it in one sitting and tossed it out here**

 **XXxxXX**

The cold November wind caused her flaxen hair to whip around. Brushing it away anxiously, Christine crept into the darkened building, tugging at her coat. November had always been her least favorite month, it was always too cold and rainy, just barely warm enough to prevent snow.

Her shoes clicked too loudly against the linoleum floors, and she was grateful when she finally located their usual rehearsing room. Breathing a sigh of relief, she closed the door and rubbed blearily at her cold nose.

"Hey, Erik, I know I-" she began, turning around. Immediately her breath escaped her in a rush, leaving her even more deflated than before.

The room was empty.

Christine flicked the light switch on, yet the small practice area remained devoid of any other human life. A part of her had half-hoped he would be looming in the corner, at least.

"Erik?" she whispered, quiet. The piano sat vacant in the middle, the bench unused and pushed in beneath the instrument.

She pulled out her phone to quickly make sure he hadn't sent her any sort of warning. There was nothing on her notifications bar.

Maybe- maybe he was simply sick. That was all, he had simply caught some sort of cold. Or the flu. Pneumonia? Her hands twisted nervously together.

Christine waited in the room for another long twenty minutes before eventually giving up.

She leaned against the outside wall, watching her breath in the chilly air. Absentmindedly she called Meg.

" _Chris?"_

"The one and only," she replied, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand.

" _Where are you? Aren't you supposed to be at your lesson?"_

"He's- he didn't come. I got stood up." Was that the right word? _Did_ he stand her up? The concept made her nauseous.

There was silence on the other end for a few beats.

" _Do you need me to pick you up?"_ she asked.

A quick glance at her little green car still parked half-way across the lot. "No. No. I drove myself here. I'll… talk to you later."

" _Um, okay, Chris. You take care of yourself. I'll drop by tomorrow, alright?"_

"Yeah," and she hung up, staring at her phone. The battery was blinking angrily, about to die on her. Feeling another headache coming on, she made her way across the lot to her car.

She slid into the driver's seat and locked the doors behind her; phone still in hand.

This couldn't go on forever, she knew that. Meg was right- she'd done her best. All she could do now was move on with her life.

With shaking fingers she tapped Erik's contact, calling him.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't pick up.

"Um, hey, Erik," she swallowed. "I know you probably don't want me to call you again- and I promise I won't bother you after this- but I just wanna say I'm sorry. I get you probably won't even hear this message, but I guess I just wanna get it out anyway. Um."

She stared at the vacant lot before her, struggling to come up with the right words to describe her feelings.

"I wish things hadn't ended the way they did, and I wish we had talked to each other better. No- communicated. I wish we had communicated better. Maybe that sounds stupid? Sorry. I mean, I know I really pissed you off when I-I took off your mask, and I guess I really fucked up because of that."

She rubbed furiously at her burning eyes beneath the glasses. His words, his compliments still echoed in her mind.

"Our first few dates were… amazing, to say the least. You're a really great person and I care for you a lot." _Maybe even love._

Off in the distance a police car went by, sirens wailing. The"Well, I don't really know what else to say. Um, I just hope you're happy… wait, no... no, don't listen to that. That sounds angry. And I'm not. I just.. I hope you find happiness, Erik."

She ended the call.

XXxxXX

The rumble of his dishwasher awoke Erik. Blearily, he glanced over at the clock.

Six-forty in the evening.

With a groan, he rolled away from the nightstand, tugging the covers back up over his head.

 _You're such a dumbass,_ he silently chided himself, _acting like a mopey teenager over a_ girl.

But she was the best woman he'd ever met. Perhaps he even loved her.

After this, though, there was nowhere any of his feelings could go except unrequited.

Erik pulled the sheets tighter. Maybe if he suffocated himself beneath his blankets, he wouldn't have to think about Christine anymore.

No… he couldn't do that. Nadir would clobber him if he dared do such a thing.

Inhaling sharply, he found himself wondering what _she_ was doing at that moment. Their practice would have been right then… was she sitting in her apartment, forgetting about him? She hadn't called him since yesterday. Perhaps… she'd finally given up. Maybe that was for the best.

Of course, in some sort of cruel irony, his phone immediately began to vibrate. Erik clenched his eyes shut, fingers digging into the blankets. _Move on, Christine. If at least one of us can do it, it should be you. Forget me._

Just as he'd turned to hang up on her, the voicemail began. He halted at the sound of her voice.

" _Um, hey, Erik."_ There was a pause, filled with the sound of her distant shaky breaths. She sounded as if she'd been crying, or was about to begin. His heart constricted.

" _I know you probably don't want me to call you again- and I promise I won't bother you after this- but I just wanna say I'm sorry."_

 _I'm sorry._

Erik stared at the phone, sitting up fully.

 _You're a really great person,_ her words echoed.

 _I care for you a lot,_ and he felt his heart seize. For a few moments he distantly wondered if he were about to pass out.

He could almost see fireworks. She still cared about him! She didn't hate him! Erik felt as if he were ready to erupt in joy, he could shout his jubilation to whatever gods were above.

But instead he threw off the covers of his bed, jerking open his drawers to find whatever clean clothes he still had.

Erik _needed_ to talk to her- to fix this misunderstanding. To communicate, just like her call had suggested.

He sniffed himself, grimacing. But firstly, he dreadfully required a shower.

XXxxXX

Christine lay flopped over on the couch. The television remote lay on her stomach, and she stared at the screen before her. A bland nature documentary was playing, and she was barely paying attention.

A box of tissues sat on the floor, right within reachable distance. Grabbing one, she blew her nose. _This is okay, right? This is normal behavior for a girl dealing with a breakup. Laying on the couch, practically living off of bags of chips and emptying all the tissue boxes around the house._

She'd been used to seeing Erik multiple times a week for nearly an entire year. And now… she wouldn't see him at all. That concept was hard to digest.

As well as the fact that it was _her fault._ Had she not messed everything up, they'd still be happy. Maybe they would have even had another kiss.

Grabbing the nearest pillow, she smothered her face with it, muffling a groan.

 _Ridiculous little Christine,_ she told herself. _Your first real chance of a relationship, and you had to go and you had to go chase him away._

Pillow still held over her face, she called herself every despicable name that came to mind. In fact, she was so thoroughly enwrapped in her insulting that she almost missed the knock on her door.

The cushion slid from her grip. Curious and confused, she slowly sat up to stare at the door.

Whoever was on the other side knocked again. "Hello?" she called out, getting to her feet. It was past seven o'clock… who would want to talk to her at _this_ hour?

"Christine! It's me, Erik," _his_ voice called from the other side.

Like a shot, she raced to the door and threw it open. Christine found herself staring up at Erik, her heart racing with a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration.

He was _there_. At her _door._ He came back.

"Erik, you're here," she breathed, her mind spinning too fast for her to articulate any other words.

He shifted, looking almost uncomfortable. His eyes looked upwards from beneath the black mask.

"I hope that's okay," he said.

Stepping back, she beckoned to let him inside her apartment.

"No, it's… it's fine," she replied. "More than fine. I'm glad you're back. I… I wanted to talk to you, and you weren't responding to my calls."

The door closed behind him as he carefully made his way through the small room. A little sheepish over the still remaining mess, she booted some boxes aside.

She spared a glance at him, surprised to see that he appeared- embarrassed? His ears were a tinge of pink, the only sign he was red underneath the mask.

"That's one of the things I want to speak to you about, Christine."

She moved to sit on the couch, reaching out and motioning for him to take a seat beside her. He did so hesitantly.

"I was worried about you, you know," she began, hands twisting nervously together. "You didn't call me back, and when you didn't show up to our lesson…" she trailed off.

He remained stiff beside her, and a distant part of her felt a sudden urge to reach out and place her hand on his shoulder. To calm him down, and pull him into a hug. She really wanted a hug right then.

"I know," he said. "And I'm sorry. After that night, I wasn't sure if you still wanted anything to do with me."

"What? Why?" her voice was small.

"I- you- you cried, that night, when you saw my face. And you looked, well, horrified. And you went home."

She was fully facing him, her eyes wide. "What did you think I was calling you constantly for?"

Erik swallowed. "To call and tell me you were done. With me. You didn't want to see me anymore."

Christine pressed her palms into her eyes for a few moments.

"You silly man," she shook her head. "That's what _I_ thought!"

A pause. He stared at her as if she'd just grown three heads.

"You… thought I didn't want to see you anymore?" he whispered.

"Yeah! What else was i supposed to think? You were ignoring all my efforts to talk. I was just about ready to give up on you."

"I know," Erik was still watching her, his amber eyes glinting with emotion. "I did get your last call. The voicemail. That's why I'm here."

"You heard what I said?"

He nodded. "That's why I came."

"Why didn't you pick up?" She tilted her head.

"I- didn't think to do so," he replied earnestly. "I just raced here as soon as I heard it. Heard you."

"Oh, Erik," she let out a little laugh, before reaching forward and engulfing him in an embrace.

XXxxXX

Her embrace.

Erik froze, and so did his heart. And lungs. And any other functions he was usually capable of controlling.

His hands, shaking, were nearly touching her back. Her glorious blonde hair was nearly close enough for him to smell, and he yearned nothing more than to reach forward and bury his awful face in her flaxen locks. He was too horrific, though; she would never allow it.

"Erik," she gently said, muffled slightly from where she sat. "It's okay to hug me back."

"It is?" he sounded tentative, almost with a childlike tone.

"I _want_ you to touch me, Erik. It's alright."

He took a deep breath, before his hands lightly touched down on her back. He curled his arms around her, and clenched his eyes shut.

They sat there for a few moments, before he felt the touch of her small hand on the corner of his mask.

"Erik?" she said his name, a question.

"No," he began to pull away, shaking his head. "No, Christine, you'll-"

She interrupted him with a finger on his lips. "It'll be okay. I promise. I want to see _you,_ Erik. The _real_ you. Not this mask you wear."

"You'll be scared," he whimpered, "You'll scream at Erik. I'll make you cry again."

"No," she shook her head. "No, I won't. I _know_ I won't. Because no matter what's beneath that mask, it's still _you,_ Erik. Your face won't change that."

He closed his eyes again, hands fisting into the material of his pants. A million ideas were going through his mind. This could end in fire- surely she'd scream at the sight of his awful _awful_ mess of a face and leave. Leave and never return back to her poor, unhappy Erik. The man that loved- yes, _loved-_ her with all of his shriveled heart.

Slowly, he let out a little nod. A small breath of air touched his face as he felt the edge of his mask being peeled off.

And then the plaster covering was being discarded on the end table behind her, and there was only silence.

Silence and the feather-light touch of her fingertips on his cheek.

 _Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry-_ he told himself. Ordered.

Yet then she pressed a light kiss to his mouth- _unmasked!-_ and he felt himself break apart. Great gulping sobs escaped him, and she broke away in shock as he crushed her to him in a tight embrace.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" she squeaked, her hands coming up to softly entwine in his dark hair.

"No, no, never," he said, shaking his head. "The opposite, the opposite."

He couldn't see the small smile that broke out on her face, nor the little tear that rolled down _her_ face as she began hugging him back; just as tightly.

"You're safe, Erik," she whispered. He only shook harder.

They must have sat on her couch, interlocked in an embrace, for at least ten minutes before Erik slowly drew back. He blinked at her a few times, rubbing at the tears on his face.

"Gods," he exhaled, "Nadir was right. Damn man."

She let out a giggle, her hand holding his. "Nadir? Who's that?"

He shook his head. "A… friend, if I can even call him that. You'll have to meet him eventually. You two are more alike than I realized."

She simply smiled and reached forward to him again, tipping her chin up to press her lips to his. He drank it in, his trembling hands raising to cup her face gently. They weren't cold, he knew, because she had just been holding them. They were warmed by his touch.

After they pulled away, she rested her chin on his shoulder. She tugged him closer, if possible. Pressing her face into his shirt, she breathed in his scent.

"So…" she glanced up at him. His eyes were still closed, his arms still drawn tightly around her. She felt safe and content in his embrace. "What exactly _are_ we?"

One gold eye squinted at her. "I… don't follow."

"Well," she began, "We're a little more than _friends,_ wouldn't you think?"

Erik did not know where this was going. "I suppose so."

"So are we a thing? A couple?" she turned fully to tilt her head up at him. He was staring openly at her.

"I'd like that," he said, quietly. As long as she kept allowing him to give her kisses and hugs, he could not care less what she called them. _Them._

He wasn't alone any longer.

Erik pressed a kiss to Christine's lips, and she broke out into a wide grin.

"I take that as a yes?" she laughed.

XXxxXX

 **Aw, look! They're finally together again. Thank god.**


End file.
